


I Had All and Then Most of You

by ab2fsycho



Series: Reddie Set Go, Beep Beep [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: It's been a while, M/M, Mutual Pining, and i needed to share, and little does he know, but i have a new love, childhood crush, eddie feels the same, hi, richie just really wants to be close to eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: Any chance to be close to him is a chance worth taking. Richie wishes he didn't love his best friend, because the only dreams that come true in Derry are nightmares.





	I Had All and Then Most of You

Eddie struggled his way into the hammock, he and Richie a tangle of limbs. Richie’s glasses fogged, pushed too close to his sweating face to retain any of Ben’s attempted ventilation of the clubhouse. After seconds that felt like minutes of cursing and slandering one another, Eddie finally settled in the hammock with Richie. Clutching his comic book, Richie’s eyes fixed on the pages as he fiercely ignored the way his glasses had been tinted by the summer air. It didn’t help that Eddie was this close either. Shouldn’t he be worried about germs or catching something sitting this close to Richie?

Who was Richie kidding? Eddie was practically on top of him.

A wet, socked foot lifted the fog of Richie’s glasses, blinding him further. The pages and the clubhouse were now just a blur of vaguely discernable shapes as Eddie’s toe prodded Richie’s cheek. Richie started to grimace, knowing in his mind that Eddie was trying to disgust him into leaving. That had to be why the boy was smirking at him, his upturned lips just barely visible through the haze of Richie’s poor vision. 

Even with that knowledge, Richie’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

He felt his heart drumming in his fingertips as he returned his glasses to their rightful seat on his nose. The fog had cleared, and blurry vision gave way to clear, hardened lines. Still, his pulse kept up the rhythm in his ears, the pounding in his digits making him fumble for a page he wasn’t ready to turn yet. Look at the book, Richie. Stare at the colorful pictures. Skim the dialogue, the description boxes. Whatever you do, don’t look at him.

Richie’s hand dropped atop something smooth and warm. His eyes shot wide as he looked up, searching for the signs that his cover had been blown. Only, no one was looking at him. Not even the smirking Eddie, who listened as Bill, Ben, and Stan prattled on about the state of the clubhouse and other nonsense he couldn’t hear past his own ears. No one, not Mike, Bev, or any of the others had noticed his hand atop Eddie’s leg. And shit, by now it would be too obvious to move it. 

Eyes cast down to the pages once again, Richie went still. He could just as easily lift his hand to turn another page, or casually slide it off to the side. Let it hang in shame off the side of the hammock, burning from the contact that should not have his heart racing like it was. Look at the comic. Don’t look at him.

Whatever you do, don’t look at Eddie.

The longer his hand lingered on Eddie’s leg, the less likely it was he’d be able to move it without someone noticing. No one noticed now. It was easier to just, let it be. Let it rest on his best friend’s leg, on skin which had no right to feel so soft and inviting. It took the strength of a man not to run his thumb over Eddie’s leg, feel that softness a little more, feel him just a little more. No can do, buddy boy. That was not gonna happen.

None of this should have happened, but here they were. And God, he wanted to know if Eddie’s lips were just as soft.

His heart ran until it hurt. He sank back into reading, not really absorbing the comic so much as letting it fill his mind further. Drown out the thoughts so he didn’t think of what he was doing, who he was lying with, who was touching him. That dull ache that formed in his stomach told him he couldn’t have more of what he was feeling now. He knew all too well what would happen if someone, anyone, knew what was running through his head. Richie knew the risk of being caught like this, of someone discovering he liked this. But if this was as close he could get to Eddie without anyone noticing, he wouldn’t move. Not even Eddie’s smelly toe propped up against his jaw could persuade him to get up and leave.

Richie knew he’d never have much more than friendship with Eddie. He’d take what he could get, though. Whatever this was, he’d take it. He swore he’d never forget it.

\--

“Look at me! Eddie, look at me!”

He kept his head down in the car, the words echoing as his mom drove him to the hospital at an unreasonable but still relatively safe speed. She was terrified for him, but not so terrified she’d put him in more danger.

“Look at me!”

All he could see was the clown. It drew nearer, those wretched claws extending from gloved hands. His throat still burned from the scream, his arm nothing more than a mass of pins and needles ready to be stabbed with more pins and needles. He hurt so bad, but all he could think about was—

“Look at me Eds!”

That dumbass fucking Tozier, trying to fix a broken arm like a lego set. What the fuck was he thinking? Eddie’s jaw quivered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, a sniffle escaping his nostrils. He pursed his lips harder. “You’ll never see those brats again,” his mom bellowed. She no doubt thought he was crying because of them.

“Look at me!”

Richie’s dark eyes flashed in his mind, wide and just as terrified as his were. He’d ripped his eyes from It only once, and when he did Richie was there. His hands were clasped on either side of Eddie’s head, and he was shouting, shouting above all the other voices. Hands, Bev’s hands, tried to pull him off of Eddie, get him out of the monster’s line of sight, but Richie stayed. He held Eddie’s face in his hands, their eyes deadlocked in a horrified haze.

“Look at me!”

Richie’s face was all he could see as his mother drove him away from his best friends. His best friend. The one person who could pry his eyes off a murderous beast and hold his gaze in as calm a manner as they could muster. Look at me, his dark eyes begged. Look at me, Richie’s pale face pleaded. I’m sorry, Eddie thought. I’m sorry I looked away. I shouldn’t have left you.

Eddie sobbed internally, hiding it from his mom as best he could. The prospect of never looking at that face again shouldn’t have him so broken up, but all he could think about was what if It took Richie? What if It decided Richie was to be his next meal? What if Eddie lost Richie to that clown forever? What if those awful teeth snagged at pale skin, tore a hole in the middle of dark curls, crushed thick glasses beneath Its feet—

He sobbed, “Richie.”

“That little bastard will never touch my son again.” His mom rarely cursed, but she was mad. She was furious, utterly livid with Eddie’s friends. All Eddie could think about was Richie.

“Look at me!”

He wished he was looking at him right now.

\--

There were moments where Richie thought maybe he should find a new crush. Maybe he should try liking a girl for once. Like, Bev was pretty. Hell, she was bangin’ hot, but he just couldn’t see her as more than one of the Losers. Why couldn’t Eddie just be another Loser to him? Why did he have to be different?

He played Street Fighter with one kid in the arcade. His heart jumped in his throat when the boy complimented his gaming skills. Eddie didn’t compliment him as much, he just cussed him out for kicking his ass. It felt nice. His palms didn’t sweat, and his eyes caught on the stranger’s blonde curls that should have tipped him off. “Wait, we could go another round if you want?” Goddamn, Richie, did you really say something that stupid? The boy’s friendly look switched to one of recognition, and horror bloomed in the center of Richie’s ribs. It spread rapidly through his body as three menacing figures came strutting into the arcade.

Bowers. The stranger was a Bowers.

He escaped as they were slinging insults at him. He’d heard them all before, he wasn’t too keen to hear them again. As he struggled to get away from the arcade before a chase ensued, his thoughts flew back to Eddie. At least it was safe to be near Eddie. He may never get as close to him as he wanted, but he was safe there.

He didn’t have to worry about Eddie looking at him the way that Bowers kid had. At least for now, he didn’t have to worry.

\--

They defeated It. Covered in pestilence, blood, and bruises, they did it. Eddie stared at the slice in his hand, fending off all the warnings of infections he’d learned of over the years. It took all of his willpower not to imagine being vomited upon again by that damn clown. Leper. Whatever. He worked hard to keep his mind from racing (and his arm from hurting), stepping slowly away from the meadow which may be the last gathering place of the Losers’ Club. For an event he wished would never come to pass, it left him astonishingly dry-eyed. Still, something in his chest ached at the thought of—

“Eddie?” Eddie turned, taking in the sight of the one person he’d imagined being with in the hospital. The one whose words still haunted him. Without hesitation, Eddie looked to Richie, whose tentative greeting turned to a quiet, “Nice cast,” the boy squinted, brows dipping between eyes enlargened by his glasses, “Lover?”

Eddie scoffed, then rolled his eyes, his head following the motion. “Don’t ask, dipshit.”

Richie snorted, a smile curling his lips and revealing those obnoxious white teeth. “Ashamed to be a Loser now?”

Eddie balled his fist, the cut in his hand screaming under pressure. “No!”

“I’m fucking with you Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds.” He expected a retort, but none came. It felt unnatural. Very . . . un-Trashmouth.

Richie’s smile softened. “Thanks for coming back.”

“We all did, it’s nothing special,” Eddie argued.

“Yeah, but Mrs. K—”

“Has grounded me for a decade, so I gotta get back home.” Eddie starts to turn, then hesitates. He can’t stop looking at Richie’s eyes, magnified to twice their actual size. The smile on Richie’s face had faded, and their gazes locked. There was no fear this time. Well, a little fear. But of what, Eddie wasn’t sure. His lips quivered as he murmured a quiet, “Now.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s response came out dry and cracked, like his tongue had suddenly shriveled in his mouth. “I’m sorry, Spaghetti.”

“For what? Calling me that dumb—?”

“This.” Richie closed the distance between them, hands too large for their wrists framing Eddie’s face. Hot lips pushed forcefully against his for a moment, then they were separate again. Richie’s lips hovered centimeters from Eddie’s, their breath mingling as long fingers twitched against his temples. Eddie’s vision blurred as he tried to find Richie’s eyes behind the spectacles, the sudden litany of Richie whispering over and over, “Please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me.”

“Fuck you, Rich.” Richie’s features sank, like a light had gone out in his mind. His lips curved into a pout, his breath stuttered, and Eddie hastily added, “Now I’m gonna be late.”

And Eddie kissed him back.

\--

Richie stiffened, the sudden onslaught of heartbreak turning into an avalanche of relief cascading through his bones in the form of cold sweat. Eddie’s fist closed in Richie’s shirt, no doubt leaving a bloody stain on his shirt collar. The kiss was clumsy, Eddie’s teeth clacking against his as he pressed harder and harder. Richie’s tongue darted out against Eddie’s lips and was shocked that Eddie didn’t recoil immediately from the gross attempt at Frenching. The second time Richie tried it, Eddie leaned away in disgust. “Ugh, that’s enough.”

“Sorry.” Eddie wiped his mouth on the back of his cast, his grip loosening on Richie’s shirt. Richie’s hands slid from Eddie’s face, one seeking out the unclenched fist. He threaded his fingers through Eddie’s, pressing their hands to his heart. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly as what happened sank in. He squeezed Eddie’s hand, a hiss escaping the other’s teeth as Richie pressed one last softer, kiss to his lips. Eddie sighed against Richie’s mouth, their foreheads resting together moments before Richie stated, “You don’t hate me.”

“Of course I hate you, motherfucker, you lied to me.” The words stung, Eddie’s cast rising and falling as he punctuated his next statement. “You were my best friend, and you hid this from me, right up until now,” his hand came down so hard, Richie thought his cast would break under pressure, “when we’re probably gonna forget everything like Bev is doing right now.”

Richie blinked again, realizing the truth of what Eddie was saying. Licking his lips, he replied, “Guess that’s why Bill’s the leader. That whole forethought thing’s kinda important.” They were silent, hands gripped to Richie’s chest. Breathing the same air, sharing the same space, feeling the same heat. They stayed that way, no Bowers to interrupt them, no Losers to distract them. “I didn’t know you liked me back.”

“You kidding? You’re the only person I can fight and know for sure you’ll be happy to see me the next day.”

Richie grinned. “The next hour.”

“I know, idiot.” Eddie kissed him again, soft and gentle. His lips were just as Richie always imagined. “Promise you won’t forget me.”

Richie’s brow pinched. “Why would I?” The answer went unspoken. Richie swallowed hard again, closing his eyes and squeezing Eddie’s hands. “I promise.”

Eddie sniffed hard, his mouth twisting as he considered the words. “I promise, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with this story. The book, the movies, and this ship especially. I spent days sobbing over Chapter 2. Anything that fills me with that much feeling deserves my love.


End file.
